Friday, January 03, 2003

Just heard about these "numbers" radio stations, where (evidently) master spies read codes to their joes in the field, who carry one-time cipher pads in the pockets of their overcoats and listen to the mechanized voices intently, knowing their lives are on the line:

Anyway, I hope it's really as exciting as spies and cipher pads and overcoats. I hope it involves the Brits, it's so much more like a spy novel when they're involved. The weird thing is, though, that most of these organizations who follow these signals all seem to mysteriously go out of business. Or maybe their servers are just crappy, I dunno. The audio can be great, though.

If my blog is mysteriously shut down and I disappear, please tell my husband it was the CIA, okay?

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.